By the Blood of Heroes (15 page)

Besides, spending the rest of the war sitting in a six-by-nine cell somewhere after being court-martialed for disobeying a direct order wouldn’t help anyone, least of all himself. They’d just order some other fool to head up the mission. If his men were going to be put in harm’s way, and that’s how he thought of them now, as
his
men, he’d be the one to give the order.

No, refusing was out of the question. Which meant that he’d just have to be sure that they succeeded in getting Jack out alive. It was as simple as that. Anything else was unacceptable.

Nichols took the telegram back and made a show of tearing the evidence into tiny pieces. “Are we clear, Captain?” Nichols asked when he finished, and for the first time Burke heard the edge of steel in the man’s voice.

“Crystal clear, sir.”

Nichols stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to see inside the depths of his heart, and then nodded. “Very well. Dismissed.”

Burke saluted and then turned away. He hadn’t gone more than a few steps before Nichols’s voice called out to him.

“I trust this conversation will remain between us, Captain.”

Burke hesitated, considered saying something, then just raised his hand in acknowledgment without turning around, because, really, what was there to say?

Chapter Eighteen

CHÂTEAUROUX

B
urke awoke to a hand on his arm.

“We’re here,” Charlie said softly, leaning between the front seats to reach Burke from his position in the back of the truck.

The ride to Châteauroux had taken close to four hours and Burke had used the time to catch up on the one commodity you could never have enough of as a soldier—rest. Now, as the truck turned down the dirt track that served as the entrance to the airfield, Burke wiped the sleep from his eyes and looked out into the predawn light.

Even at this hour the airfield was a flurry of activity. Planes had been wheeled out of their hangars and were lined up on the grassy field that served as the takeoff and landing area. Men swarmed over them like worker ants on a mission, checking struts, tuning engines, and loading ammunition into the machine guns that were mounted in front of the cockpits. A group of pilots stood around a map pinned to a piece of plywood, more than likely discussing the morning’s dawn patrol. A group of infantrymen emerged from the mess hall as they drove past, and Burke lifted his hand in greeting.

Corporal Davis drove the truck through the center of camp and out the other side. When Burke shot him a questioning look, Davis said, “Almost there, sir,” inclining his head in the direction they were going. Burke let it go, figuring the corporal knew where they were headed, and settled back in his seat.

They drove through what had once, in the days before the coming of the kaiser, been a farmer’s field and followed the dirt track they were on into the woods just beyond. They continued for a few more minutes until the trees suddenly gave way and a clearing opened before them. Burke sat up, staring in astonishment out the windshield at the massive airship that came into view.

The gleaming cigar-shaped silver vessel hung fifteen feet off the ground, anchored there by more than a dozen guide ropes, its silver hide illuminated in the spotlights directed up at it from the ground below. Burke guessed it to be somewhere close to seven hundred feet in length, with a diameter in the neighborhood of eighty or ninety feet. The insignia of the British Air Corps, three concentric circles of blue, white, and red, was painted brightly on the airship’s nose and tail fins. When one of the lights played across the bow, Burke was able to make out the name of the craft written in letters six feet tall.

HMS
Victorious.

Two gondolas hung from its underside, one forward and one aft, connected to the bottom of the dirigible by thick brass columns. Large wooden propellers on gimbaled platforms jutted from the back of each of the gondolas, which Burke surmised were meant to assist the tail rudder in maneuvering the craft through the sky. A pair of smaller propeller platforms hung down from the middle of the vessel, perhaps to provide a little extra lift in case of an emergency.

From beneath the tail fin at the rear of the ship jutted several exhaust ports, most likely leading to several steam engines designed to provide the thrust necessary to move the big craft through the atmosphere. A large cargo door hung open, partially obscuring the view of the ports, and Burke could see men standing in its doorway and using a system of ropes and pulleys to bring up crates of supplies that were loaded by a group on the ground below.

Davis pulled to a stop in the shadow of the airship and the men of the squad climbed out of the truck, their eyes going wide as they caught sight, one by one, of the enormous airship looming over them.

Burke understood how they felt.

If was, by far, the largest airship he’d ever seen. The sheer size of the craft was impressive, but it was when you remembered that a ship like that could carry a man all the way across the Atlantic that the wonder of it all really hit home. He’d never ridden in an airship before, and the idea that this behemoth might be their transport made him as giddy as a schoolgirl.

Until he realized with a sinking feeling in his gut just what a bright, big target HMS
Victorious
would be.

While he was still pondering the implications of that realization, a slim young man in a dark blue uniform approached and asked in a heavy British accent which one of them was Captain Burke.

“That would be me,” Burke said, stepping forward.

“Lieutenant Silverton, sir, His Majesty’s Air Corps.”

“Good to meet you, Lieutenant.” The two men shook hands.

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll get you and your men squared away, sir.”

Silverton led them toward the group loading the cargo. As they approached, Burke watched several crates being pushed into a wire-framed basket, which was then hauled upward to the men waiting above. Half a dozen other lines hung down from above and men were using them to climb up and down from the deck as their duties required.

“We’ve got your team bunking together in one of the forward wardrooms,” the lieutenant told Burke. “When you get topside, ask for Chief Wilson and he’ll help you get your gear stowed away and show you to the bridge.”

Silverton glanced at Burke’s clockwork arm, hesitated, and said, “If you’ll give them a moment to unload, I’ll have them send the basket down for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Burke replied, irked that the lieutenant would assume his former injury left him less capable than the men he commanded.

He reached out, grabbed hold of one of the hanging lines, and began to pull himself upward, hand over hand. His mechanical arm actually worked to his advantage, for he was able to “lock” the hand in the closed position, fingers clamped tightly around the rope, and then hang from it without putting unnecessary strain on his muscles while he reached upward with his other hand. It took him a moment to get the rhythm, but once he had it, he went up the rope as if he’d been doing it for years.

He was met at the top by another British airman, this time a short, burly fellow with a shock of flaming red hair, who grabbed hold of the rope and pulled it over to the side so that Burke could step onto the deck.

“Welcome aboard,” the airman said, by way of introduction.

“Thanks. I’m looking for Chief Wilson . . . ?”

“You found him,” the man said with a smile. “Chief Machinist Wilson, at your service. I’m guessing you’re the mysterious Yank we’ve been waiting on.”

“I don’t know about mysterious, but definitely a Yank. Captain Michael Burke, American Expeditionary Force.”

The two men shook hands.

“My orders are to get you and your men squared away and then take you to see our captain before we launch. Okay with you?”

“Sounds just fine, Chief.”

Burke spent the next few minutes helping the rest of his men aboard and making sure the crates Nichols had sent along made it on as well. After that, they collected their personal gear and told Wilson they were ready.

To Burke’s surprise, the first thing the machinist did was lead them to the far side of the room where a large door stood open.

A glance through its open frame showed Burke the looming bulk of what looked to be a bank of engines or generators.

Wilson pointed toward them.

“That’s the main engine room, which is where you’ll find me when I’m not dragging you Yanks around by the nose,” he said, smiling to show he meant no offense. “Unless you’re a grease monkey like me, you probably won’t have any need to set foot in there during the voyage, but it’s always good to know where things are, in case you’re assigned to damage control or something like that.

“This way, please,” he said and led them back across the cargo bay to the end of a long catwalk that extended forward toward the bow of the ship far ahead.

Wilson explained that all the crew spaces were grouped in two areas, one forward and one aft, along the central axis of the ship and accessible by the main catwalk. The aft section included the engine room, the mechanics’ quarters, several storage bays, and the loading dock, which was where they had entered the ship. A stern weapons platform was mounted beneath the bulk of the engines and accessible through the engine room, though Burke hadn’t noticed it while on the ground.

The stern gondola, which housed one of the maneuvering engines and also served as the auxiliary bridge in the event something happened to the bow gondola, was located about a third of the way along the ship’s length. It was accessed by a ladder that ran down the inside of a vertical shaft that pierced the floor of the catwalk and extended down through the roof of the gondola. Wilson pointed it out as they went past, piquing Burke’s curiosity, but they didn’t have time to drop down inside and take a look around.

Maybe later,
he told himself, as he hurried to catch up.

Above them hung the
Victorious
’s three gas bags, strung horizontally in a line one after another and surrounded by a framework of steel and corded mesh to keep them confined to that particular area. Ladders and catwalks hemmed in the entire structure, providing access, Burke assumed, for the crew in the event repairs needed to be made while in flight.

Curious about what kind of gas could provide lift for a ship of this size and weight, he asked Wilson how it all worked. The chief machinist was more than happy to explain it to him as they walked along.

“Etherium,” he said, with more than a touch of pride. “Only the best for His Majesty’s Air Service.” He pointed forward as he said, “Look there; that gas sack contains refined ether in as pure a concentration as we can get it. In the aft gas sack”—pointing again, but this time behind them—“is a mixture of hydrogen and helium in a 2:1 ratio.”

The combination surprised Burke. “Wouldn’t pure hydrogen give you more lift?” he asked.

“Yes, but it’s also more prone to instability and therefore more flammable,” Wilson told him. “The combination makes them all safer. It also burns easier, allowing us to get another ten percent efficiency out of the engines.”

The forward crew area, set near the nose of the airship, was twice the size of the one in the rear and contained most of the major crew spaces within the vessel; officers’ quarters and wardroom, the crew quarters, mess hall, the captain’s cabin, the galley and pantry, the dry goods storage, and the ship’s infirmary.

The wardroom that Burke and his men had been assigned to for the duration of the voyage was sandwiched between the galley and the sick bay. It wasn’t all that big, especially for eight men and their assorted gear, but since Wilson didn’t apologize for the lack of space, Burke didn’t bring it up. For all he knew the British airmen were crammed into a space half the size. Four sets of wooden bunk beds had been bolted to the floor and the men quickly claimed their respective territory, with Burke automatically awarded the lower bunk closest to the door, as was custom.

Burke left the men in Sergeant Moore’s hands and followed Wilson out the door. The vertical shaft that provided access to the forward gondola was located half a dozen yards back along the central catwalk and Wilson didn’t waste any time in leading Burke over to it and then down the ladder into the gondola.

Burke’s gaze was immediately drawn to the windows. They rose from waist height to just below the ceiling and provided a complete 360-degree view of the surrounding terrain. Right now all he could see were the trunks of the trees that encircled them, but once they were airborne he knew the view would be magnificent.

Tearing his attention away from the windows, he looked upon a finely appointed cabin done up like a gentlemen’s club of old, with dark wood paneling, a deep maroon rug, and high-backed leather seats at each of the crew stations. The instrument panels were covered with a dizzying array of gauges, dials, and switches, all coated in brass that was sparkling from a recent round of polishing. Crew members were dressed in the bright blue jumpsuits the British Air Service had adopted as its official uniform and were hard at work at their various stations, calling information back and forth as they ran through the departure checklists. A ship’s wheel was mounted near the front of the gondola, allowing the helmsman manning it to see where they were headed and to adjust course as necessary. Behind him, in the center of the command area, a gray-haired figure wearing the uniform of a senior officer sat in a raised chair watching over it all with an authoritative air while at the same time dealing with several issues brought to his attention by the aides clustering around him.

“Captain Connolly?”

Without looking up from the clipboard in his hand, the other man said, “What can I do for you, Chief?”

“Our ‘package’ is aboard, sir. The American, Captain Burke, and his team.”

The captain turned, spotted Burke standing a few feet away, and, dismissing the aides for the moment, crossed over to him with a smile. “Good to meet you, Captain,” he said. “Nigel Connolly, captain of Her Majesty’s vessel
Victorious
. My people taking care of you all right?”

“They are, Captain. Thank you,” Burke said politely, trying not to be rude as he continued to gaze in fascination at the control stations nearby.

“Good. If you need anything, you just let Chief Wilson know and he’ll take care of it. I’ll speak to you again after launch.”

“Sounds good, sir. Thanks.”

Captain Connolly nodded and then excused himself to continue dealing with the many items that demanded his attention. Wilson nodded his head in the direction of the access shaft, and Burke reluctantly turned away. They hadn’t gone more than a few steps, however, before Connolly’s voice cut through all the chatter.